Every time I see a Tesla Cybertruck in person—which is sadly frequent, since I live in the Bay Area—I have to quash the urge to give it the finger. The people Drew Magary encounters while driving one, however, do not quash. It’s hard to know whether that’s solely because of the cartoonishly aggressive car, or because Magary also looks like the stereotype of a Cybertruck owner. But such questions only distract us from the joy of this piece. If you wondered what people with money to burn and a Mad Max fantasy experience inside these testosterone chariots, wonder no longer.
As for the interior, the Cybertruck is as barren as most other Tesla interiors. I got a big-ass touchscreen, a fighter pilot steering wheel and little more. Tactile pleasures were nonexistent. No buttons. No switches. I felt like I was driving around in an unfurnished apartment. But the truck did have a pleasing strip of white leather trim bordering the interior, which gave me the impression that somewhere, deep inside Tesla headquarters, a person with legitimately good taste fought a battle and actually won it. Also, the gas and brake pedals had a brilliant chrome finish to them, and the seats were both roomy and comfortable, which is a big deal for large men such as myself. This was a far more attractive ride on the inside than out, which was good because I was afraid that the driver’s seat would be covered in iron spikes. It was not. It was a normal seat, and I felt at home sitting in it.
Then I turned the truck on and was instantly escorted back to Elon’s technocarnival of suck.
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